


gone (gone, gone)

by zcinmalik



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e08 Time of Death, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Protective Stiles, Protectiveness, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-11 15:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zcinmalik/pseuds/zcinmalik
Summary: “They don’t deserve you!” The words came out before Stiles realized he was forming them, like the type of divine truth that just crashes down from the sky.





	gone (gone, gone)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soulless_slut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulless_slut/gifts).



> Written for [Sydney](http://bichase.tumblr.com/) for Sciles Secret Santa 2017. Happy holidays, and I hope you like it! 
> 
> Thank you so much to [Alex](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/) for being such a gracious beta!

The hunters had taken Scott somewhere between twelve and sixteen hours before Stiles found him.

Stiles knew because he had last seen Scott when they were having an argument about college—how Scott didn’t want to leave Beacon Hills unprotected and how Stiles didn’t want this stupid town to hold Scott back any more than it already had. The charged air between them was filled with Stiles’ unspoken, choking fear. He needed to protect Scott, especially now, after all that had happened. He couldn’t tell Scott how many of Beacon Hills’ ungrateful, oblivious civilians Stiles would happily turn over to Peter Hale or Gerard Argent or _whoever_ as long as it meant Scott was safe. As long as it meant Scott could stop sacrificing everything for people who would never love Scott like–

Their argument had built to a yelling match. It was about college and about anything else, about Beacon Hills and any other city, about everything they were saying and everything they weren’t. Stiles had stormed out of Scott’s house that night. The next day, Scott was missing. He was missing and Stiles and the rest of the pack found him too goddamn late, because the hunters who took him had hurt him.

And to add a fucking cherry on top, the hunters, it turned out, were home grown from Beacon Hills. Stiles recognized them from the grocery store and the Fourth of July parade and the fucking movie theater. Scott had already bled and _died_ and more to protect these hunters.

Stiles didn’t remember all of the details of rescuing Scott, but he did remember the satisfying feeling of one of the hunter’s noses breaking under his fist. Liam had tried to pull him off the guy, and Stiles had turned in his fury and decked Liam in the jaw, and his fist had cracked with the painful impact, and the rest had been a blur.

 

* * *

 

Scott insisted that his healing factor meant he didn’t need the hospital. (Unspoken, but as clear to Stiles as if it were a billboard over Scott’s head, was the fact that the McCalls couldn’t afford the hospital even if Scott were dying, again). Instead, he was laid up in his bed the next morning, casually doing his calculus homework, cheerfully chewing a Twizzler, acting as if this were normal because for him, it had become normal. Because Beacon Hills had made it normal. Because Stiles had allowed it to become normal.

His hands still shook with terror and rage and loathing, and Stiles was starting to realize that those feelings weren’t just directed at the rest of this stupid town. They were also directed at Stiles himself, because this was just as much his fault as the fault of every monster and hunter who had ever carved at Scott’s body and soul like they were there to be cut up.

“We need to talk,” Stiles said, and his tone made Scott look up from his notebook with a frown.

“If this is about college–” Scott started.

“It’s not.”

Scott looked searchingly over Stiles’ face.

“Stiles, I’m fine. They–”

“They don’t deserve you!” The words came out before Stiles realized he was forming them, like the type of divine truth that just crashes down from the sky.

“What?” Scott said, perplexed. Of course he was.

“Scotty,” Stiles breathed, heat building behind his eyes as he took in the sight of his best friend, the boy he loved more than anything else in the world, being buried under the weight of a town that would never stop until he was finally broken by it. “They don’t deserve you. And– and neither do I. We never have.”

A long silence fell, Stiles’ words lingering more heavily with every second that passed.

“How could you think that?” Scott finally asked. He sat up straighter, trying to hide the resulting wince from the way the movement pulled at his wounds. “Stiles, you’re my best friend.”

Stiles closed his eyes against the words, against the way his heart still lightened with joy every time he heard them, despite the fact that he knew he had never been worthy of them.

“I love you,” Stiles blurted. “I love you and you’re my best friend and I _let you die_ , Scott. I can’t–”

He gripped at his hair, barely registering the pain in his scalp or the lingering ache of the broken bones in his right hand, still unable to meet Scott’s gaze.

“Stiles–”

Scott was perfect. Scott was perfect in every way, so of course his voice would have that gentle, loving tone. Of course he wouldn’t be betrayed or disgusted or enraged. Of course he wouldn’t even hesitate in response to the reminder of his murder.

“Don’t,” Stiles said. He looked up, met the warmth of Scott’s eyes, and had to immediately look away again. “Just– just don’t, okay? I know that the things I’ve said, the things I’ve done–”

Stiles felt, for a moment, as if his lungs were closing up. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take in a long, shaky breath. Scott was silent; Stiles could feel his gaze as if it were a beam shining over him.

“I know that I’ve made it so you won’t believe me, when I tell you that this town doesn’t deserve you.” Stiles’ voice was unsteady, but he kept talking, because he had already opened his mouth in the first place and he had to somehow find a way to express this in words. “I know I can’t stop you from sacrificing your health and your future and your life for us. But… but I can at least try. I can at least _try_ to fix this. Scotty, I just want to show you how much you mean. You’re… you’re everything, Scott.”

Stiles forced himself to meet Scott’s gaze.

Scott stared at him, his face open with the trust and compassion it was always open with, despite the fact that he was clearly still processing everything Stiles had just unloaded on him. That was fine, Stiles thought. He was going to fix this. He was going to fix everything.

Scott would see.


End file.
